


nothing gold can stay

by deltachye



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Angel/Human Relationships, Angst, Gift Fic, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x mika kagehira | angel au]Nature’s first green is gold,Her hardest hue to hold.— VIRIDESCENCE ; the timeless tragedy in which the star crossed angel falls in love with the starry eyed human.[dw]
Relationships: Kagehira Mika/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23
Collections: Gift Fics





	1. FIRST STANZA.

****

**Her early leaf’s a flower;**

The human is a flawed creature, incorrigible and undignified. They yield to petty things such as _emotion_ and then somehow find the audacity act upon it. They celebrate worthless things. _“Birthday parties”._ Mourn worthless things. _“Failure.”_ They have this so-called sense of “self-importance”, as if any cumulative thing the humans have accomplished qualify as “important” in the macrocosms of it all. And yet, they remain ambitious. For them, there remains an insatiable hunger in the pine.

For a very long time—if you can consider time at all—you didn’t understand. Humans scramble for meaning and purpose as if they _meant_ something. Isn’t that laughable?

There _is_ no purpose.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Do humans fear death? They must not by the feverish way they chase after it. It’s like they crave it. And yet they always beg the same thing when it finally comes: _I don’t want to go. Please don’t take me away—_

 _**I don’t want to die!** _

As if their life had made a difference at all.

His hadn’t made a difference. His going and passing wouldn’t be remembered in the next universe reincarnate. Mika Kagehira could have never taken a breath of life and nothing, _not one thing_ , would have changed.

…except for the fact that you, Angel of Aether, would have never fallen in love with Man of Terra.

Isn’t that laughable?

**mikhail, “מיכאל”:  
he who is like god.**

What’s actually laughable is this:

High school.

It’s an… _interesting_ place, suffice to say. And it is, unfortunately, key. Currently, it is an era of angel-human co-existence for the first time in known history. It’s strange to see your fellow brethren worked up about something. After all, there was a reason that angels didn’t bother with humans: they’re just not worth it. Though it’s, what— _exciting?_ —you suppose. Living with mankind is something that you have yet to do. You have only ever done the occasional observation or heard tales, so to be up close and personal with the object of your interest is a valuable time to humour your studies.

Though you never thought that you’d end up somewhere so juvenile, yourself.

You aren’t nearly close to being an archangel. According to crude human terms of measurement, you’re ‘younger’ than the rest. The humanoid vessel you take in order to walk the Earth looks like a teenager, apparently, so to abide by these flimsy Mudman Rules, you attend a co-ed high school. You learn—well, it’s forced into you—Mathematics, Science, and Language Arts. It’s surprisingly difficult to tolerate. The bell drones intermittently and you’re shuffled around like His sheep were, bleating mindlessly to receive scores that determine how nicely you’re to be pushed around.

It’s terrible, honestly. It’s one of the first emotions you become intimate with: disgust.

You don’t feel this disgust as you pick chewing gum out of your wings, however. There’s animosity amongst humans, still, though you couldn’t care less about them. These ones had called you “Freak”, which you find to be quite tasteless. For creatures so obsessed with the arts, they aren’t very original. It’s slimy between your fingers, still wet, fluorescently pink. Stubborn, elastic strings cling to feathers. You sigh to yourself. Plucking the feathers themselves seems to be the only option, though it stings each time you do. Pain is not unfamiliar to you.

(Soon, it will be all you are acquainted with. You will drown in it.)

You sense their approach but do nothing to avoid the confrontation. They can say what they like to you. To say that you’re apathetic is an understatement; and when you refuse to raise your eyes, one of them punches you square in the stomach.

It winds you. Your eyes widen a fraction as your knee gives out, your useless body crumpling into the ground. The taste of iron backlogs in your throat as you gasp for breath. Two pairs of faceless hands grab your own, binding you on your knees.

“Let’s cut the stupid wings off this Chicken, eh?” a boy sneers in front of you, malice gleaming crimson in his brown eyes. Your brow twitches imperceptibly. There’s a scalpel in his hand, clearly nicked from the lab rooms. It’s not very large, but you know that it’s sharp. He fully means to scar you.

You don’t have to say it, but a part of this newfound _conscience_ compels you. It’s another emotion you have grown quite fond of: spite.

“Aren’t _you_ the chicken?” you drawl sarcastically. “Go on then. Show us your dissection.”

The hands clasped over your wrists are putridly sweaty. The boy’s expression darkens as a thunderous flash of anger sparks across his face. Ah, how easily the weak are led astray.

“I’m going to make you wish you were dead!” he seethed, raising his arm. Unflinchingly, you watch white light glint off the scalpel blade. It wouldn’t really matter to you if you lost your wings. They are supposedly precious, and it would hurt greatly to have them lacerated by a stupid boy’s shaky hand, but you _are_ interested to see his face after he sees your spilt blood. You find it fascinating. And, you have always wondered… what is death like? Is he handsome and fair? Will she be kind to you? Or cruel?

But then he appeared. Genesis 1:3,

_And God said, “Let there be light,”_

_and there was light._

“Please, stop it!”

**anya, “חַנָּה”:  
god has favoured me.**

“Kagehira?!”

“Get away fr’m ‘er!” the newcomer pleads, desperation straining a delicate voice. You’re quite honestly bewildered to see somebody jump headfirst into this dire situation. He spreads his arms wide over you, shielding your body with his lesser one. He’s trembling like a fresh leaf, though, for all that bravado; you can see it even here. This one is scared of death. And yet, he ran right into it. Why?

For you?

“I’ll make sure they know yer’ name,” the dark-haired boy continued (tearfully). “You won’t get away with this.” His threats sound empty to you; the desperate spiels of a cornered rabbit. But they seem to take hold as the other male shifts his gaze.

“Whatever. Not like an alien like that is worth it,” the boy spat, shoving the scalpel into his pocket. He gave you a last glare before turning tail, hurriedly stalking off. The cronies he had let go of you and scrambled to follow, allowing you to rub your sore wrists as you look up to your saviour.

“’Re you okay?” he asked, worry gleaming between mismatched eyes. Your own glide between the two of them with muted interest. Blue sapphire and yellow gold. You remember watching the sun first rise over the ocean and feel the same peace when you stare at his face.

“Did they hurt you?” he continued fretfully in your silence, dropping to his own knees to get a closer look. “You must be scared... I know I’d be…”

 _Scared?_ No. You’ve never been scared.

(You will be. It will cloak your days with dreadfully thick pitch.

But not yet.)

“I’m all right,” you reply amicably. Then, more unsurely, you add to be polite, “thank you.”

“Oh—no problem!” He beams, soaking up your praise and puffing out his chest. “My name’s Mika! Mika Kagehira. What about you?”

“Er…” It’s an awkward question that you still fumble with. Humans prize names so much. As an otherworldly being, you don’t have much use for them. You have been called many things and nothing at all. Sensing your hesitation, Mika shakes his head awkwardly, raising his hands.

“Ah, sorry! ‘s okay if you don’t wanna tell me.”

“No, that’s not it.” Hasty, you settle on the first word that comes to mind. “You can call me anything you like, but… Ren is fine, also.”

“Ren?” he repeats, somehow sounding happy to hear it. “That’s real easy to remember. Phew.”

“Is it, now.” It’s amusing how he fumbles for your attention.

“Oh. And you angels don’t have genders or anythin’, right? Sorry I called you a ‘she’. ‘M still learnin’ everything ‘nd all…” He’s tripping over his own words in apology, bowing his head in shame. You don’t see the problem. He’s right—unsexed beings also don’t have use for arbitrary things like pronouns—though you can’t quite understand why he seems to be so upset about it. Does he think he’s offended you? It’s… strangely thoughtful of him. Nobody has ever extended this consideration to you before.

“It’s fine.” You refrain from repeating yourself to tell him “you can call me anything you like”. _As long as you call me._ He raises his head sheepishly.

“Ya’ mean it…?”

Something shifts in your heart. The human one that pumps blood at 37 degrees through your mortal body. It flitters and flutters in your chest. He is earnest. Pure. It’s strange… and you don’t understand. You don’t understand _why_ , or what, or how, or who… but a smile raises itself on your lips.

You’re _happy_.

“Yes. I mean it.”

Mika. Soon to be _your_ Mika. Your Kage, your Hira—your _Hero_ … it’s funny how humans always find ways to play with things they shouldn’t when they _know_ they shouldn’t. Prometheus’ fire burnt them, and they held it in charred hands anyways. To be human is to be flawed, but _him_? He was perfect. He deserved to have wings more than you. You should’ve known. In a way, you had. You are of Aether. You should’ve known better. But the fire in him… it was so bright. You had to know its warmth. But you should’ve done better by him.

(O, how you wished you could’ve given your wings to him instead, rather than have his tears wet them in despair.)

Nothing is quite fair. That is the true essence of things. Though, you must wonder, and wonder and wonder you do… perhaps these trespasses are able to be suffered, because at least you met him. It’s why they shoulder their crosses. It’s why things _mean_ things to them.

You met a new emotion as you watched the sun rise over the sea. It was agape—the highest form of _love._

(Never had you hated a sunset more.)

**ren, “仁”: humanity.**

**But only so an hour.**


	2. SECOND STANZA.

**Then leaf subsides to leaf.**

You can’t quite recall when you first fell in love with the human named Mika.

He is… astoundingly confusing. His favourite food is candy, and although you’re no culinary expert, you don’t think that eating burnt cake qualifies as a meal. He fumbles with his emotions. You think that they’re just too big for him and he needs to grow into it. After all, it’s not like you’re any better. You struggle with your newly acquired heart in the way that he struggles to reign over his own. You’ve got a mask, and he, a broken shield. In this way you’re perfect matches for each other. It’s nice to know that you have a soulmate. His sense of pain is duller than the rest, and when you point out that he’s got scarred fingers, he merely shoves them into his pockets with a sheepish grin. Oh, how you adore the face he made when you took them into your own and kissed them.

And, most of all, he is incredibly _good_.

For a human, those funny creatures always swayed into depravity, he resists. You have never known the reasoning behind loyalty, and yet, he is loyal. Since the start he has always been hellbent on protecting you from things he has no business protecting you _from_. If his soul had a colour, you’d imagine it to be a purer white than your own wings. And still, he doesn’t see himself the same way that you do. It makes you wonder… how can you get Mika to love himself like you love him?

Is this what they call selflessness?

**serena, “serēnus”:  
clear, tranquil, serene.**

“Hey, Reni-chan.” He calls you this affectionately cutesy nickname, having been embarrassed about it the first time. (How sweet he’d been, blurting it out and then wincing like he’d get into trouble. Why do it in the first place?) But you like it. You like being known to him.

“Yes?”

“Angels have magic powers, right?” He flexes his arm in a show that makes your lips quirk up with amusement.

“I wouldn’t call them ‘magic powers’… but yes, I suppose.”

“What’s yours?” He drops his arms to his side and leans into you. He’s taller than your vessel and his dark hair shifts as he peers at your face. “Can you show me? Pretty please?”

It makes you shy for some reason, but you willingly do as he asks. Your shadows dance under your fingertips, waxing and waning at your gentle prodding. Some angels are tied to the element of water and freeze lakes under their feet. Some whip up tornadoes. Others nurture volcanoes like they’re children that spit hellfire. For you, the comforting silence of the shadows has always called you. Shadows have enshrouded you in a loose hug, the way restful sleep does. There is comfort in the night, balancing the day. You glance down and for a second it looks like yours and his shadows are embracing. It startles you so badly that you forget to maintain your control and they shrink back into place.

“That’s amazin’!” Mika praises, practically gushing with excitement. “I wish I could do sumn’ like that!”

“It’s not that amazing,” you murmur bashfully. _In fact, I think you are even more amazing._

“It’d be pretty for performances… I wonder if there’re angels that have magic with light or sound.”

“Performances?” you question, interested in the sudden way he brought it up.

“Yeah—oh. I never told you, did I?” Looking self-conscious, he rubs a sudden redness out of his cheeks. “I, uh. I want to perform.”

‘Want’. You’ve never had that feeling before. For angels, who have no ‘need’, there is very little ‘want’. Humans have tiring needs and endlessly tiring wants. They want even that they cannot have. In your case, spending time with Mika is the first time you have actively wanted something for yourself. (Though sometimes, you have to ask yourself if it is a ‘need’.) Curiously, you cock your head, glancing at his forlorn expression.

“Why?”

“I, uh… I guess it makes me happy.”

“What do you perform?”

“I sing!” he announces proudly, seeming to gain more confidence as you listen. “And we choreograph dances, too. You should come, Reni-chan! It’d be super cool if you’d do some shadow work for us, wouldn’t it?”

Would it? You aren’t sure. You’ve never witnessed the arts these humans cling to so dearly. You learn about them in class, these paintings and sculptures left behind by the dead. Songs. Poetry. You’ve run your fingers over marble carvings, feeling the mournful wishes of those that have passed. It’s a form of expression, they say, but what of you who has nothing to express?

But you figure you might as well experience it for his sake. You turn to tell him this, only to notice that his gaze has dropped. He mumbles something so quietly you almost don’t hear.

“’nd… I really want to perform for you.”

**callisto, “Καλλιστώ”:  
daughter of king lycaon; most beautiful.**

You don’t know why he tries to hide it from you. It’s a sickeningly adorable sentiment. You rack your brain, but it’s hopeless, for you can’t come up with a suitable response. There’s nothing you have to offer that doesn’t offend how incredibly dazzling he is. It’s all you can do to nod for him.

“I’ll come, Mika.”

You don’t notice it, too busy staring at his face, memorizing each feature. But the shadows have moved on their own accord, and you’re on your tip toes, blank face buried into his fuzzy chest as the two of you hold each other. He’s light. You’re shadow. It’s all so perfect.

(So why, then, must he be extinguished?)

**So Eden sank to grief.**


	3. FINAL STANZA.

**So dawn does down to day.**

Blue sapphire. Yellow gold. Together, it makes green—the colour of life and viridity and spring—the hardest hue to hold. His eyes, mismatched, have always looked upon you with such adoration. _Let there be light_ , He had declared. And so, there was light, and he was Mika. He was the sun first rising up over the horizon of an endless ocean. He was triumph as Apollo’s chariot chases away the shadowy night. One half was yours. One half was his. Koi. Yin and Yang. He was so precious to you—more than any jewel, any metal, or any _life_. You would have given anything. You would have given yourself without question if it meant that he… if it meant that he could just…

But, gods are cruel. Gods, who sit above the angels, are woefully cruel.

_Do you believe in fate?_

He was valuable. He was your everything. And so, he was plucked from your hands. It was divine retribution, they said. An angel, _wanting_ things? The world had to be righted to correct for your sin. You didn’t deserve him. Perhaps you never did. And, surely, he deserved more than you.

Humans so desperately wish to be remembered after death. They attempt to leave legacies through blood lineage, art, and other meaningless memories. They carve themselves into stone. What happens when nobody is left to remember you?

It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t forget your Mika.

You’ll never forget the way he cried in your arms.

(You can’t. Angels don’t die, no matter how much you’d like to rejoin him.

This is what they call Hell.)

**pluto, “πλουτος”:  
overflowing. god of wealth, god of the underworld.**

It had all gone so wrong.

What day was it? That detail has long since slipped away from you now. Earth doesn’t even exist anymore. But it was spring. You remember that only because of its irony. Spring, the season of rebirth and life. _Ver_ , carrying the west wind Favonious. Mika had been born in the winter, the day after Christ. You had promised him that you’d celebrate with him when the day came. Yet you always thought the spring suited him best. He had warmed the frost from your hands and bloomed flowers in your chest from nothing. His heat was always warm and comfortable. From him, you learnt the meaning of seasons.

(The empty spaces between your ribs ache fondly _in memoriam_.)

He was your Kage. Your Hira. Your _hero_ , until the bitter end. You could’ve protected him if he let you, but that’s just the thing about humans. They’re always so awfully stubborn. It’s why they war with themselves and drive their own home into ruin. As higher beings, angels aren’t meant to interfere. If they die out, then so be it. You merely bear witness.

(Your wings are heavy on your back as you remember the burning heat of his tears against your palm.)

You had never gotten to hear him sing for you. Well, he _had_ sung before you, but those were stolen memories. You liked to watch over him while he sewed in the clubroom, humming cheerily to himself. If you made yourself known, he’d be too embarrassed, so you kept to the shadows. He had a beautiful voice. Politely, you feigned surprise when he handed the dress over to you, pretending like you had never seen it before—your fingers accidentally slipped through the measured slits on the back.

“For your wings!” he told you cheerily. How odd. You had always tried to hide them. The archangels believed that it might help humans acclimate more readily the more you looked like them. You struggled to keep them tucked beneath your uniform.

“Should I try it on now?”

“Y-you don’t have to if you don’t like it! I just thought—well, maybe—”

“I love it,” you breathed softly, hugging it to your chest. “Thank you.”

The dress was frilly and lacy. Girly, some might say. Cute, maybe? Is that what he thought of you? Though it had masculine design elements incorporated, too. You ran your hands over the stark black dye of the fabric. It was reminiscent of the shadows… had he grown to love them, too? The white of your feathers seemed to glow against the pattern.

“How is it?” you asked him, ducking back out into view. You spun around once, feeling a gentle pleasure when the skirt twirled at your ankles. But Mika was oddly silent, staring at you wordlessly. A snake of unease wound around your heart.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no!” he stammered, jumping when you eyed him curiously. “I j’st… wow.”

“‘Wow’ what?”

“Wow… _you_.” He swallowed thickly, placing a fist over his face to hide it. Mirroring his own blush, you could feel your face warm as if kissed by sun. It grounded you. Then, his gaze flickered back to yours. “You look great, Reni-chan.”

“It’s only because of your handiwork.”

“No.” He stepped forwards, looking down at you fondly. Shyly, he pointed to your exposed wings. “D’you mind if I… touch them?”

“Go ahead.”

Your breath stuttered in your throat when he brushed his fingers through your feathers. Something cold jolted through you and you shivered, flinching.

“Are you okay?” he asked concernedly, pulling his hand back. Feverishly, you nodded.

“Yes.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Mika?” you croaked out. Heat blossomed, melting winter ice. The need burnt in your gut. Human need. Human desire. Human _love_. “Please don’t stop.”

(Please, don’t leave me.)

You were wearing that dress that night. Of course it had been night. The stars gleamed above like scattered diamonds, but the moon was hidden behind storm clouds. Cold wind blew over your skin, biting at the flesh. You waited on the balcony where he’d asked you to be, but he was late, which wasn’t like him. Maybe if you hadn’t been here, you could’ve protected him the way he needed you. If you had just _known…_

The shouting could be heard from even here, drifting up from the grounds. Somebody was in serious pain. You peered over the railing only to feel your blood freeze in your veins. The shadow of angel wings were arched across the cobblestone, and quivering beneath them in obvious prayer—

**anonymous, “ᾰ̓νώνῠμος”:  
without a name.**

“Mika. Wake up.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten so involved with a human.”

“I’ll kill you.” You have never cried before, and the tears sear right through you. The angel looked back at you stoically.

“They are too fragile. It was as the Father wished.”

“How could you?!”

The angel vanished, soft fallen down left behind in the wake of his flight. You shouted into the air, wailing at the heavens.

“Just because—!”

“R… en…?”

Your gaze whipped back to Mika, who you cradled tightly in your arms. He squinted up at you blearily, unseeing. Gold. Blue. What was once green—

—red.

“It’s me,” you gasped, tucking his head towards your chest protectively. “I’m here.”

“Mm… it hurts…”

He who laughs at needle pricks and bears the scars of them on his fingers shudders into your chest.

“Hold on. Just hang on. I’ll help you.”

He who adores stuffed toys, his expression alight with joy, wept shamelessly.

“I don’t think…” He gasped for breath with strained difficulty, the air rattling down his crushed throat. “I can’t…”

“Please don’t close your eyes.”

“I’m sorry… I’m really…”

“No. Don’t be sorry.”

“Mm.” He raised his hand shakily. Horrified, you could only watch him palm your shoulder as he reached blindly. His fingers slipped from your shoulder to your back. With the same gentle care that he had before, he ran trembling fingers through your wings like he might comb them through your hair.

“I’m scared,” he moaned. Tears welled in his eyes, making them look like round gemstones. “I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t have to,” you begged him in return. “You can stay. Please stay with me.”

Humans. They’re so little. They’re so young, like spring leaves. They fear death and yet they chase it with vigour.

He who smiles at you with all the light in the world isn’t smiling any longer.

“Can you… live… for me…? Please, Ren?”

Your tears fall over face like rain, cold grey storm clouds shrouding the sun. “I don’t want to. Not without you.”

His fingers fall out of your wings. You fold them around him to give him warmth, but still, he shivers in your arms.

“I want you to live.”

“But _why_?!” you shriek. It bursts all at once. Grief. Despair. Devastation. Pain. _There is so much damn pain_. You don’t know how the humans can stand it. It makes you feel like you’re being shredded apart from the inside out. Your love is dying. You’re frozen numb and burning alive. It’s like you’re going to die yourself. And yet you’d take on all this pain and more if it could lessen the grimace on his beautiful face. Anything. Anything for you, but—

“Promise me?” He smiled weakly for your sake. You brushed the tears off his cheeks with the ends of your wings.

“I…” Through your tears, you managed to nod. “Yes, I promise. So you have to live also. Promise me that you’ll live, Mika.”

Silence. The smile froze on his face. Early frost. Early death.

“Mika?”

(Hiems.)

“ _Mika_!”

(And so, you, Angel of Aether, carry the burden of remembering a Man of Terra. He shadows you. Follows you. Haunts you.)

**, “ ”:  
.**

You will never take a name again. You will never be known again, for your sole purpose is to ferry the memory of he who was named Mika Kagehira.

You promised him.

memento mori.

**Nothing gold can stay.**

**Author's Note:**

> deltachye.tumblr.com  
> based off the poem "nothing gold can stay"; frost.


End file.
